


Enough

by ShadaPhoenix



Series: Whispers in the Darkness [10]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bugs & Insects, Buried Alive, Not Really Character Death, Self-Acceptance, Self-Destruction, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-09 14:09:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12278142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadaPhoenix/pseuds/ShadaPhoenix
Summary: What is "Enough" anyway?





	Enough

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PrettyBoyKiller](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyBoyKiller/gifts).



> This work is dedicated to a writer I admire a lot, [PrettyBoyKiller.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyBoyKiller/pseuds/PrettyBoyKiller) You are amazing and you inspire me to dig deep into myself to use my experiences as a learning and writing tool. I only wish I could inspire people the way you do.

Same shit, different day. Everything is so monotonous. What once was vibrant, loud, and satisfying has faded to this gray, murky fog. Color has all but drained from my surroundings, leaving me immersed in my dreary disposition. Things I once found solace in crumble beneath my fingertips. Self-doubt and distrust seep deep into the cracks in the mortar of what once held me together. Brick by brick, my world is crumbling. Did I not try hard enough?

What the hell is enough anyway? Working myself until I am exhausted and can’t see straight? Pouring my heart and soul into something that may or may not pan out? Spreading myself so thin just to please everyone else at the expense of my own happiness and mind? It is never enough for them. They always cry “more, more!” so I dig deeper and rip myself open to pour out what is left.

Empty. I have given all I can and there is nothing left for me. I am a vase with no flowers. A hive without bees, the honey having been scraped out by bears’ claws and all that is left are the stingers. Every stinger is a comment on my shortcomings acting like a nail in the coffin of my self-worth. I’ll never be good enough.

I go to the sink to wash away the fatigue of living life weighed down by the constant nagging of  _ not enough _ ,  _ never enough _ . Water drips down my face as my eyes catch my own reflection. I don’t even recognize the hollowed out shell of the girl I used to be. They say the eyes are the window to the soul. Mine reflect back nothing, the spark having fizzled out long ago. Every utterance of  _ not pretty enough, not thin enough, not smart enough, not submissive enough, not good enough  _ a shovelful of dirt burying the corpse of my former self. They burrow into my body like worms, crawling over the rot like maggots as my sense of self decays.

Something has to give. I can't continue to exist in this state of disrepair. I am broken, but not unmendable. Cracks can be filled and holes can be plugged. I can rebuild the me that once was, only stronger, reinforced by a steel resolve.

Slowly, I claw my way out of this coffin of self-defeat and dig tooth and nail through all of the dirt they threw on top of the girl who had given up. I crawl, my fingers worn to the bone and bleeding, up to the surface, gasping for fresh air after suffocating for so long in a box I had put myself into.

It is enough to be me. I am enough.


End file.
